


Tête-à-Tête

by papergardener



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/M, Flashback, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Odette doesn't want to deal with feelings, Paris 1870, Slow Romance, felicie is missing, meradette, past relationship, post audition scene, they need to learn better communication skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papergardener/pseuds/papergardener
Summary: After Félicie’s failing audition, Mérante and Odette talk about things long left unsaid and open wounds not yet healed. Then again, maybe it was long overdue.





	1. Face to Face

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to ellymango for helping with proofreading!
> 
> This is a darker fic than my last one, but don't worry- it has a happy ending!

After the farce of an audition that morning, Mérante was in a poor mood as he worked with the upper division class that followed, continually distracting himself with the thought of the two young dancers, Félicie and Camille. He'd had such high hopes for Félicie, but to think that she didn't even bother to train the day before- that was hardly someone with the mental fortitude and perseverance to play the leading role of Clara in the Nutcracker. And then there was Camille- technically strong, flawless technique, but there was no expressiveness, no passion but false smiles and superficial flourishes. Two girls with so much potential, but one lacking any discipline, the other as mechanical as a wind-up doll. Is that what the Paris Opera ballet was coming to? Would that be the next generation of dancers? In the end, he had to choose one of them, and he picked Camille, hoping he wouldn't come to regret it.  
  


As the violinist played beside him and the older girls moved through their center lines of leaps and twirls his mind shifted to Odette. He had seen her on the balcony before the audition- their eyes had met once and he tried to wordlessly ask where Félicie was, but she had only shaken her head. How must she be feeling? It was his decision to dismiss Félicie from the Ballet School, he was the reason all of their time and effort had been for nothing. What would they she do now? Build her walls even higher and shut herself away from the world? To think she had been training Félicie in ballet, it was a near-miracle. With that gone, what would she do?  
  
When the class finally-  _finally_ \- finished Mérante was quick to excuse himself to search for her before the afternoon rehearsals. He wandered through the backstage maze, looked into the the salons and went down the great gilt hallway, quiet and empty that time of day. The longer he walked the more uneasy he became. He had to find her, but what would he say? What  _could_ he say? There were no words he had to console her, and he was still so full of bitter frustration that he feared he would be far from comforting. Perhaps she didn’t want to see him either. In fact she almost certainly wouldn’t. He had been the one to dismiss Félicie. Did she blame him?  
  
By the time he finally spotted her he still didn’t know an answer. She was washing the windows overlooking Rue Gluck, looking so small and subtle he wouldn’t have seen her if he hadn’t been looking. The weaker part of him thought about walking away, retreating to the bright, gilded world of the Ballet School and leave her in the dim light. Why was it so dim, he wondered, suddenly aware that it was as dark as dusk despite being almost midday. He looked out the window nearest him and saw churning grey clouds blocking out the sun, with only thin strands of sickly yellow light straining through. A storm was coming.  
  
With a faint sigh he looked up at Odette again and caught her looking at him with a half-turn of her head. She quickly looked back towards the window but it was too late. If he turned back now he would be a coward, and if he waited any longer it would only be worse. With a small cough he walked over, feigning something like indifference.  
  
“I wanted to come check on you. After what happened earlier.”  
  
“I’m fine.” A lie, but he didn’t press it.  
  
“And Félicie?” He asked.  
  
“Gone.”  
  
There was silence as he straightened. She refused to meet his eyes.  
  
“Did you send her away?”  
  
She didn’t answer, and it was as good as a confession.  
  
“Why?” He asked in disbelief. “After everything that you’ve both worked for? After all that and you just, just abandon her? Just like that? You didn’t have to do that, not to her.”  
  
She said nothing, just kept her mouth shut in a thin line.  
  
“I don’t know why I expected anything else.” Mérante said, furious at her disregard for him, for Félicie. “You manage to push away everyone else, why would she be any different.”  
  
“You have no idea-” She said sharply, then stopped and took a deep breath. “Fine. You’re right. I did push her away. I couldn’t… I couldn’t help her. It doesn’t matter now. I wouldn’t be able to care for her. I can barely care for myself, without my job, my home, I can’t even-“  
   
She stopped, as if realizing what she was saying.  
   
“What?” Mérante asked.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Did Le Haut dismiss you? I told her- I  _specifically_ told her that if she dismissed you-“  
  
“Don’t.” She said, cutting him off. “Just… stop. You couldn’t protect me forever. You’ve already chosen Camille for the role. What’s done is done.”  
  
“I had no choice.” Mérante said, annoyed- whether at her or at himself he wasn’t sure. “Not only was Félicie late, she couldn’t even finish the audition. She didn’t bother to train, or show the slightest indication that she gave a damn about her future as a dancer. How could I possibly allow her to stay? I had to choose Camille. Although to be honest after her performance this morning I’m already considering choosing another girl.”  
  
“Do what you want. But leave me out of it.”  
  
“I’m only trying to help.” He bit out through gritted teeth. He’d forgotten how irritating she could be.  
  
“You shouldn’t be.” She said with an angry, desperate twinge to her voice that he hated. ”I betrayed you, the director, the ballet school. I knew Félicie was impersonating Camille Le Haut. I encouraged her, taught her, all the while knowing it was a lie. The last thing you should be doing is helping me. If anything, you should let me go. You  _know_ ”  
  
She stood before him, challenging him, daring him to cast her away. Of course she had a point, but now wasn’t the time to acknowledge that.  
  
“You  _know_ I won’t do that. After everything we’ve been through, you think I could just dismiss you like that!”  
  
“We barely knew each other.” She said. As soon as the words left her lips she shut her eyes and turned away.  
  
If she had slapped him it would have stung less.  
  
“Is that really what you think?” He said after a long moment. In the hollow silence he was faintly aware of the sound of rain pattering against the windows.  
  
She shook her head, slow and weary. “It was a long time ago.”  
  
Still she refused to look at him.  
  
“Maybe you’re right.” Mérante said, fighting back the hurt those words caused. “But it doesn’t matter. I want to help, if you would only let me.”  
  
“Why? Why are you still trying to help? What is it? Just what do you want from me?” She demanded, anger and frustration and desperation coursing through her words.  
  
“How- when have I  _ever_  asked anything of you? I am not- you  _know_  that’s not why I am doing this. After everything, you would really accuse me of that?”  
  
She flinched, a tiny flick of movement but enough for Mérante to stop, to step away, aware of how much he’d raised his voice.  
  
“I didn’t mean...”  
“No, you’re right. You never did ask anything of me.” She said quietly, and it sounded like she actually believed it. But it was a lie and she knew it, he thought with a sharp stab of guilt.  
  
“You’re wrong.” He said, not daring to even look at her. “There was… once. One time. The one time I asked something of you and… and  _that_ ”  
  
A stunning silence followed and he mentally swore at himself. What was he thinking? He knew better than to bring that up.  
  
“Odette, I didn-“  
  
“… _What_?” She said in a breathless whisper. The genuine, utter shock in her voice startled him. “Mérante, that... that wasn’t-“ She stopped mid-sentence, distracted by something behind him. He turned and saw a young dancer half-running to them.  
  
“Pardon me, M. Mérante?” She said in a high, breathless voice, barely coming to a rest before rolling back on her heels. “M. Vaucorbeil asked that you go meet him in the Grand Escalier, if you please.”  
  
“Thank you.” He said, his mind reeling to re-orient himself. “I’ll be with him in a moment.”  
  
With her message delivered the little girl hurried off, leaving them alone in the grey-lit corridor. In the silence he turned back at Odette as she gazed out the high window as if seeing something far off in the distance, lost beneath the shadows of those dark clouds. Quite suddenly, she felt far away. An odd shudder ran through him as he thought that as she stood there, close enough to touch, she was out of his reach. Maybe it had always been that way, he’d just refused to see it.  
  
“I should leave you to your work.”  
  
She nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. As he stepped away he wondered, was he abandoning her? Again?  
  
A sharp streak of white-gold caught his eye and he turned in time to see lightning crack over Montmartre in the distance through the gray rain. When he turned to catch one more glimpse of her, she was still staring out the window, almost in tears.  
  
What had he done?  
  
As he walked through the grand hallways of the theater, his mind churned and roiled like the dark clouds outside.  
  
 _We barely knew each other…_  
  
Maybe there was some truth in it. Technically they had never been more than choreographer and dancer; teacher and student. Really, it had only been that short time, that one year.  
  
 _It was a long time ago…_  
  
Had it been that long? They had been friends once, that much was true. Was he just clinging to old memories? Was Odette as he knew her, the bright, engaging, incredible dancer, the times they had shared… was it really all just in the past. Was he looking for someone who no longer existed?  
  
His mind went to that flicker of light over Montmartre- they had once stood on that craggy hill years ago, back when they were happy. An old, sweet memory of a warm, spring day.  
  
Maybe that’s all that was left- memories.  
  
If only he didn’t have this ache in his heart…

~~~

To be continued.


	2. Side by Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had once been happy... a flashback to a warm summer day, to when Mérante and Odette could talk about dance, life, and love.

Montmarte, Paris – June 1870  
(13 years earlier)  
  
“Wow… this is- I’ve never seen Paris like this. It’s incredible.”  
  
“I’m still amazed you’ve never been up here, Odette.”  
  
“I know- pathetic, isn’t it? But I’ve just never had a reason to come before now, and I’ve never had much free time.”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to tease.”  
  
“It’s fine. I’m glad I came today. Although I’m surprised the others are taking so long.”  
  
“Weren’t they right behind us?”  
  
“I’m sure they’re… Oh- Mérante, look! There’s people dancing, down there. You see them? Just over there, towards the left. Not that far, no- just past the trees, if you… now you’re not even trying. Look, if you just follow my hand and-“  
  
“Oh, I see them now. Just past the trees, right… It looks like a _guinguette_. Listen… I can hear a violin.”  
  
“I hear it, and I think they’re playing a musette, too... It sounds fun.”  
  
“You’d like to go join them, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“No, it’s- I’m fine.”  
  
“Really? Because you look about ready to run off.”  
  
“Well, I- it’d be fun, I admit. But I don’t know how to dance. Stop! Before you make that face, I know what you’re going to say. And yes, I admit I can do ballet well enough but I’ve never been to a social dance.”  
  
“I’m sure you’d do fine. We were doing the _mazurka_ in rehearsal just this Thursday. Have you really never danced a waltz?”  
  
“Never. I’ve seen it though, it doesn’t look all that hard.”  
  
“It’s easy. You could do it drunk and blindfolded. I know- I’ve seen lesser dancers than you do just that.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised. By any chance were you one of those drunk, blind dancers?”  
  
“I don’t think I want to answer that… Oh sure, go ahead and laugh.”  
  
“Sorry, I’m picturing you spinning about and staggering on stage.”  
  
“Well you’re not far off.”  
  
“Mérante, if anyone I’m sure you’d still manage to make it look graceful.”  
  
“’Eye of the beholder’, as they say. I’m trying to remember how Eugénie described it, but graceful wasn’t the word. Huh, maybe we should go down and join them, we could get some drinks and you can judge for yourself.”  
  
“God, let’s not!”  
  
“You said you wanted to dance.”  
  
“No I didn’t. Although… all right it’s true. Would you actually want to go dance? I mean, even if I wasn’t here?”  
  
“Possibly. I don’t think I’d ever have seen them though, without your help.”  
  
“Mérante, can I ask you a personal question?”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Why do you dance? I mean, I’d heard you grew up with it, you’ve been dancing all your life it sounds like. But do you actually, I don’t know, enjoy dancing?”  
  
“Why do I dance? Dance is, well… it’s infuriating. And exhausting. And sometimes I don’t know why we bother. I’m always trying to be better, to be perfect and the truth is I’ll never reach it. One bad injury and it’d be all for nothing. Dance drives me crazy. And yet, I don’t know what I would do without it. It’s my life. I’ve never really thought about it, actually… I do have a reason, why I dance… It’s just… I can feel it, I know it… I just don’t have the words to say it.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to pry-”  
  
“You didn’t. Though it’s not a very good answer.”  
  
“Not at all. I think it carries the truth of it.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Why do you dance, Odette?”  
  
“… Please don’t laugh.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“Without dance… I honestly think I would have died a long time ago. I know that sounds pathetic, and maybe it is. But’s the only thing that’s ever made me happy, the only time I don’t have to… to be me. Or maybe it’s the only time I truly can be myself. I don’t know. It’s saved me so often, without it… If I couldn’t dance, I don’t know what I’d do.”  
  
“Odette…”  
  
“That’s depressing, sorry. Although you know, it’s funny- I can’t remember a time I was ever this happy. It’s only now I have the closest thing to a home I’ve ever known. I get to dance on the stage of the Opéra de Paris. I’m here with friends, with people I care about. I never thought my life could be like this. I… I truly never thought I could be this happy.”  
  
“I’m glad. I’m really, truly glad you’re here with us, Odette.”  
   
“…Oh, why not. If it’s not asking too much, would you care to dance with me, Mérante?”  
  
“With all my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:  
> Montmartre- a large hill in Paris, although in 1870 was still a quiet, rural get-away from city life.  
> Guinguette- popular drinking places/restaurants that sometimes served as dance venues- a bit like a small cabaret.  
> Musette- an instrument like a small accordion, standard Parisian dance music (that stereotypical Parisian café music? That’s a musette)  
> Muzurka- a Polish folk dance that was a popular social dance along with the polka and waltz. It’s also one of the dances in the ballet Coppélia that premiered in 1870.
> 
> The third and final chapter will be coming soon!


	3. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odette returns home to pack up her things, but is interrupted by Merante- the last person she wants to see at that moment. But as much as she thinks that she'd rather not be with anyone, she can't do it alone.

"A grey veil has fallen over my spirit and I no longer believe in anything. This lack of faith at times makes life very wearisome to me and makes me all the more desire the completest solitude, to give me what I want, which is rest."  
– Giuseppina Verdi, 1874

It rained most of that day and continued until well into the night, the damp grayness settling over the city and muting the bright gilt halls of the Paris Opera.

Sometimes Odette would hear a far-off peal of laughter or see a flash of red from the edge of her eyes, just startling enough to momentarily snap her from her stupor. Then she would close her eyes, take a deep breath, and press those thoughts and feelings deep inside so she wouldn't think of anything- not of Félicie, or her home, or Mérante… she couldn't think of it. Not yet.

The day passed in a numb haze and she wasn't consciously aware of walking back from the theatre that night- all she recalled was the rain running cold down her neck, and the nausea that worsened the closer she went to her apartment. There was no moonlight piercing the thick clouds; it was truly dark when she passed the gate to Le Haut's building, with neither streetlight nor lamplight to guide her.

As she stepped past the threshold of her home a shudder ran down her spine- something was wrong. Even hidden in the darkness everything was… off. She tripped over unseen objects on the floor as she fumbled for a candle and match- they weren't where she had left them- why? Finally the match flared and settled, revealing her ransacked apartment, everything thrown about the floor, her things scattered everywhere.

She clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream and nearly dropping the candle in her shaking hands. Someone must have broken in- maybe they were still there! Hardly daring to make a sound, she stumbled back through the open door and saw Mme. Le Haut walking towards her through a thin gray curtain of rain, smiling.

"Good evening, Odette." Mme. Le Haut said, voice pouring out like poisoned wine.

Odette stopped in her tracks, still clutching the candle that hissed and died, leaving only Le Haut's covered lamp to see each other by. Barely moving, she glanced back at her home, cold realization settling on her.

"What happened?" She managed to say, afraid of the answer.

"I had to make sure you hadn't taken anything that wasn't yours. You know I don't trust sneaking, lying little _rats_." Her simpering smile ground into a sneer. "You will leave these premises by morning. If you're not gone by then I'll have the police arrest you for trespassing, is that clear?"

Odette couldn't speak, could barely breathe…

"Answer me!" Le Haut shouted.

"…Yes, Madame." Odette murmured, her hands balled into fists to stop them from shaking.

"You should be thanking me for not calling the police already. After today I never want to see your face again." Le Haut said with a disdainful sniff and turned away with a whirl of her skirts.

"Wait!" Odette cried, taking a half step towards her. "Please, where did they take Félicie?"

Le Haut didn't even bother to face her. "She's not your concern anymore."

"Just tell me if she's safe, please…"

"Safe enough, I would think." She said with her thin, poison-wine laugh before she shut the door with a harsh finality.

Odette was alone. Again.

She felt a familiar sickening swoop in her stomach at the thought, and a hot burning in her eyes that she once again held back. Not now, God, not now. Don't think about it…

But the thoughts pushed through unrelenting. Félicie was gone. She had no idea where they'd taken her and each possibility that emerged was worse than the one before. Maybe she had been taken to the police station, another orphan to be rounded up into a hospice or orphanage and left there to rot. Would they have dared arrest a child for impersonating someone? They wouldn't, unless Le Haut pulled some strings.

What if that carriage had taken her to a train station, somehow forced her to board? Could she have gone back to Brittany? It seemed unlikely, but perhaps someone had come to collect her at the station. She could have been dropped off somewhere, simple as that. Taken to one of the seedier streets and thrown to the dogs, or far out in the country with no one to go to. Out in the rain, with winter coming on fast, and wearing nothing but her thin ballet skirt…

Odette realized she was still standing in the cold rain, blinking away the water dripping into her eyes, hunched over like she might be physically ill. With a few steadying breaths she stood, forcing herself to relax her shoulders even as she felt her jaw tense. Hands still trembling, she walked back to her trashed home and tried- really tried- to not think of Félicie.

But the sudden quiet, the pervading loneliness was almost like a physical presence – or the lack of one. It had always been lonely, all the years she lived there, but it had grown familiar, comfortable. In such a short time she'd grown used to Félicie despite how brash and loud and obnoxious she could be. Without her, the once-comfortable quiet now felt strange. In the torn apart room, it felt sinister.

She was gone, though, and there was nothing she could do. Not then. She had to figure her own life out before she could hope to find and help Félicie. But, God, what if she was in trouble? Out alone in the world, with nothing and no one to help. If she had only gotten there faster, or if she had made sure she trained the night before…

There was a powerful, almost overwhelming urge to collapse to the floor and not get up. To succumb to all of the emotions writhing within her, threatening to pull her under until she couldn't breathe. She wanted to give in, to let herself rest. Instead she wiped back the damp hair on her forehead and lit the wet wick of candle. She bent and picked up the pieces of a shattered vase on the floor and threw them in the trash with a loud crack, and it was almost a relief to hear. She righted chairs, brushed off and folded the clothing that had been thrown to the floor. Tried to make some sense out of the mess and ignore the revulsion she felt with each thing she found.

The feeling of having been violated clung to her skin like a cold fog. What strangers had been in her home? What shoes had crushed the old papers now on the floor? How many eyes had seen the privacy of her rooms? Whose hands had been on her clothing, her bed?

She tried not to think, or feel. As she picked up what little remained in her life, she seemed to sink into herself, becoming a strangeness in her own body. A living doll and someone else was pulling the strings.

_Where will I go?_

The words whispered through her mind again and again, impatient and desperate, yet faint against the numbness she encased herself in. The little apartment had been her home, her refuge. With how little she had saved, and only her pay from the theater to live on, where could she go?

As she knelt by her bed a strange noise came through her daze, and it took a moment to recognize the sound as a knock at her door. She waited a moment, unsure if she had heard correctly- it must have been well past midnight. Another knock rang out, earnest but not frantic. Sighing she pulled herself up along the bed and limped to the door, wondering if it was Le Haut again, or perhaps the police had come early- she hadn't been keeping tracking of the time. Or… Félicie?

She couldn't see anything but darkness through the eyehole, and on opening the door was stunned to see Mérante standing before her, smiling warmly despite the cold rain around him him.

"Good evening, Odette."

"Mérante? What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk with you, just for a minute." He said, and she noticed how strangely excited he seemed although he disguised it well, but not enough to hide a familiar gleam in his eye. She hesitated, chewing the inside of her lip. If it wasn't so rude she would have sent him away, refused anything to do with him.

"I won't be long." He said, almost pleading.

"All right." She said with a resigned sigh. "Come in." She stood aside and let him pass as he pulled his hat from his head, rainwater dripping from the brim. Peaking out the door behind him, Odette glanced at the opposite building for any lights in the windows. It wasn't appropriate for him to be there and he should have know better than to come so late- the last thing Odette needed was being accused of indecency. But everything was dark and quiet. Still, she took care to lock the door before turning to see Mérante frozen where he stood.

"My God… what happened?" He said slowly, staring about the wreckage.

"Mme. Le Haut wanted to make sure I hadn't stolen anything." She said, stepping around the table away from him and gathering some of the papers scattered there, more to give her hands something to do.

"That's… that's horrendous. She did this?"

"I assume she hired someone, but yes. It's all right, though. I can handle it." Odette said brusquely.

"Where will you go from here?"

"That's nothing you need to worry about." She said, not caring how rude it was. It was late, she was exhausted, there were only a few hours to pack what was left of her belongings, and frankly she couldn't deal with him, not then, not when she was so vulnerable. So damn pathetic.

"Well, that was actually why I came by." Mérante said, unrelenting. "I spoke with the director earlier and he agreed to offer you a room at the theater. It's not much, just some storage space in the attic but it's open and not too uncomfortable. It's yours if you want it."

Odette leaned back, resting a hand on the counter to steady herself. It was an answer to her problems. A new home, getting to live in the Opera de Paris, it was almost unfathomable. She should have been overjoyed. So, why, _why_ , did his words make her so miserable? Why did he have to come?

"I, I appreciate it." She said, "I truly do. But… you don't have to do this, Mérante. You've done enough."

She absently held her right arm, half holding herself while she avoided looking at him and pushed back the hot burning in her eyes. Now wasn't the time for tears, especially not in front of him. She needed him gone.

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

She let out a shaky sigh and dropped her head. "No."

"Then at it least consider it, please. If not now, then later. And…" He paused and took a deep breath. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "And if you do choose to take the offer, just, please know I'm not doing it for anything in return. I swear on my life."

"God…" She threw her head into her hand, hating herself for what she had told him that morning. "Mérante, don't. I know you aren't. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's all right. I, I just needed you to know. There were things I shouldn't have said either."

There was a strange pain in his voice, a hint of so many things unsaid. She didn't want to think of this now. About Mérante, about their past… but she had to tell him.

"About earlier, what you said about that night…" She heard him straighten, a slight intake of breath. Through all those years they'd never spoken of the night she had been burned, the night of that terrible fire. If she was being honest, she'd never let them. She pushed on.

"What happened back then, none of that was your fault. _This,_ " she gestured to herself, "wasn't your fault. I… I understand why you might think it, but I swear to you, on everything I hold dear- I have _never_ blamed you for what happened."

Finally she willed herself to look at him, and he couldn't meet her eyes, nor did he try to argue and the thought of it nearly crushed her. Long ago she had sworn to herself she wouldn't become a burden to anyone, least of all to him. For all these years she had shut herself in, told herself that she could survive on her own. When she had pushed him away, she'd meant to free him from her. She closed her eyes and felt guilt burn a cold hole in her.

Another feeling soon followed- realization. Was that why he was there? A sense of obligation? Guilt? Or simply pity?

"You don't owe me anything, Mérante." She said, the realization settling cold in her stomach. "You don't have to keep saving me."

"That's not why I'm doing this." He said, voice almost a whisper. "I'm here because we're friends. Or at least we were. And, despite everything, I still care about you. I'm not going to abandon you. Not again."

They had been friends, almost more, almost… after so long, after barely speaking to each other in years, and he still thought of them as friends. He was still there, like he'd always been time and again. She hadn't meant to let him get so close again. But he _was_ there, and she was tired of all this deception, of pretending she didn't care. She closed her eyes and drew up another ounce of courage, another deep breath.

"I didn't send Félicie away." Odette said, and heard Mérante tense, a slight shift of fabric as he straightened. "After the audition… there was a carriage waiting for her outside the theater. It was already gone before I could reach it. I- I couldn't even say goodbye."

"What? God, and I assumed… Odette, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. There was nothing you could have done, for either of us. It's my fault. I should have done more. Made sure she trained yesterday, made sure she was ready."

"That wasn't your fault. It was her decision, her responsibility to train. You can't put that on yourself."

"I feel like I failed her."

"You didn't. I don't know how you managed to do it, but I know Félicie didn't learn all of that on her own, she could never made it this far without you. And yes, she made a mistake at today's audition, but you and I both know we've seen worse. I'm sure without you she'd have ended up on the streets already, cold and starving like so many others. Oh, which reminds me..." Mérante said, patting his jacket pocket before pulling out something wrapped in paper that he placed on the counter beside her. "For you."

She reached out and picked it up, slightly warm in her cold hands, and unraveled it to reveal soft white bread, thin slices of meat and cheese,. With a sharp pang, she realized that her nausea may have been more than just intense anxiety.

"I had a feeling you might not have eaten today." Mérante said.

It was so endearing, so needlessly kind she almost laughed and instead tried not to smile like an idiot. She pinched off a small piece of the bread- just the taste of it was a hard reminder of how starving she was.

She looked up to see Mérante deep in thought, one hand at his lips as he gazed at a far corner of her room. He looked so human, Odette thought as she ate, studying him as he leaned against the little wooden table, half in shadow in the thin candlelight. At the Opera he was always so severe, so polished and professional, that he seemed strangely out of place in her meager home but also… he looked so young. No, that wasn't quite it- he just looked so much like the dancer from all those years ago, the one she felt so safe with, the boy she could talk to about things she didn't dare tell anyone else. She forgot how much she missed seeing this side of him, when he wasn't putting on an act for the world.

"About Félicie," Mérante said finally. "It was a carriage that took her, you said. A police carriage?"

"I'm not sure, but possibly." She said, pushing aside thoughts of their past, and thinking to that morning. "I saw that it was a closed coupe, two horses, that was it. It could have taken her anywhere, she may not even be in the city anymore."

"Well, if she was taken to the police then they must have a record of her. Or if not then she was probably taken to an orphanage or a hospice in the city, I would think, and we can check those easily enough. Of course if it was a private carriage that would make it more difficult. Much more difficult… honestly though, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't find her way back to the theater on her own."

"You may be right. It's just, I don't know…." It was all so overwhelming, and all she wanted to do at the moment was lie down and sleep for a week. "It won't be easy."

"You won't have to do it alone, I'll do whatever I can to help. We can still save her."

"Thank you." She said, keenly aware of the warm glow of hope rising in her chest. It scared her. "You know, I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to keep doing this. Just because we were friends… you've already done enough."

"It's… it's not quite that. There's more to it. I'm here because..." He paused, frowning softly, his eyebrows creasing in consideration. As they stood there, with so much between them, time slowed, almost stilled in the quiet. Despite what she'd told herself earlier, now she could barely stand to see him leave. Then he smiled, a small self-indulgent grin, and the world began to turn again.

"It's funny… I know the reason, I know what it feels like…" He said, almost to himself, before looking up at her. "I just don't have the words to say it."

The familiar words were like an echo as she traced them back through the years, alighting on the memory of a hot day in June as they stood atop the hill of Montmartre, gazing over the city. What was it they had said? They had talked about their love of dance, their reasons… Her breath caught in her throat, then she let out a shaky laugh.

"Fair enough."

The smile he gave was so warm, so heartfelt that she didn't bother trying to hide her own.

"Very well." She finally said, pushing herself from the counter. "I would be happy to take your offer to stay at the theater. But now I really should get back to packing."

"May I stay and help?" He asked, also straightening.

"I couldn't ask that of you. You'd be here until morning."

"All the more reason I should. Between the two of us we might manage a good twenty minutes of sleep."

She laughed, felt an achingly familiar flutter in her chest. It wasn't the end of the world just yet- she could get through this. Somehow, it would be all right.

"Mérante… thank you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this, because I made myself half-miserable writing it. God it was fun. 
> 
> Initially this was all going to be a simple one-shot from Odette’s perspective in the apartment at night. But after some thinking I realized I needed that earlier establishing scene, and it was good to see the world in Mérante’s head for a bit. The little flashback scene was a late addition but I’m so glad for it.
> 
> About that quote at the beginning of the chapter… I don’t even know who that was. I found it by chance, a little line buried in a letter while researching another Giuseppina from a few years earlier. It put that feeling into words I didn’t know how to write. Reading it still puts a somber chill in my heart, and helped me a great deal in understanding Odette.  
> (dear Giuseppina, whoever you were- I hope you found peace)


End file.
